


Abrasive

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Choking, Fights, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Sibling Incest, Teasing, Temper Tantrums, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 12:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Thor growls in the back of his throat as he lets his breath gust out of him. 'I would not be around me right now if I were you, Loki.'" Thor gives a warning, and Loki is reckless.





	Abrasive

Thor doesn’t hear the door opening.

This is partially because he is distracted. He’s caught in his own thoughts, lost in his own considerations; he has more important things to worry about than the doorway over his shoulder and whether it is open or otherwise. He’s not used to worrying about an audience; a life lived as the presumptive heir to the throne of Asgard has left him accustomed to the view of admirers and subjects alike, he is hardly so weak-willed as to balk at the addition of a single watcher. And in addition, the crash of glass shattering from the vase he just hurled at the wall is enough to drown out the sound of anything else around him.

“ _Damn_ them!” Thor growls, stomping forward across the room as his attention lands on the closest object within reach. The vase was good, the crash of its shape giving way was satisfying; but the brief relief of having his anger so clearly expressed is fading already, leaving him just as irritable as he was a moment before. “How _dare_ they!” He lays hands to a weight against the table next to him, something small and probably intended to be decorative; it doesn’t break when he hurls it at the wall, which is disappointing, but the force it carries does _thud_ satisfyingly against the walls, and Thor thinks he may have even managed to leave an indentation in the smooth surface surrounding him. “I am a prince of the _realm!_ ”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from behind him, so carefully deliberate that it’s enough to tighten Thor’s jaw on irritation even before he’s heard the words that go with it. “Is this a bad time, or…?”

Thor growls in the back of his throat as he lets his breath gust out of him. “I would not be around me right now if I were you, Loki.”

Thor does hear the sound of the door swinging shut this time; but it’s followed immediately by the soft scuff of boots against the smooth-polished floor, as Loki disregards Thor’s warning to step forward into the room. “Have you decided to take on the mission of personally destroying the hall? And without inviting me to join in the fun. I’m hurt, really.”

“I am telling you,” Thor says, still with his gaze fixed on the wall before him instead of turning to meet the dark gaze he can feel fixing on the line of his shoulders like a physical pull urging him to turn and meet Loki’s stare. “I do not promise your safety in my presence right now.”

“I don’t believe I asked for such,” Loki says, still with that calm on his voice. In other circumstances that tone can be a comfort, when it’s nerves that have Thor pacing out across the floor of a corridor or when there is some petty problem to be worked through; at the present, with impotent anger so radiantly hot in Thor’s veins, the calm just sounds condescending, just sets his jaw the tighter on the ire he has been nursing against the walls of the room around him.

Whatever Thor is feeling goes unnoticed by his audience; or perhaps it’s just ignored, perhaps Loki is deliberately turning aside from acknowledging the electric weight of danger hanging in the air. There’s certainly no trace of it on his tone when he speaks again, with the soft of graceful footfalls to track his motion around the edge of the room as he works his way behind Thor. “I like what you’ve done,” he says, his words sounding entirely sincere even though Thor knows them for the teasing they must be in reality. “I always thought this space needed some remodeling.”

“Your mockery carries danger with it today,” Thor growls to the floor, his shoulders tensing under the weight of his shirt as his fingers curl to his sides. “Should I do harm to you it will be on your own head, brother.”

“Mockery?” Loki repeats, scoffing over the word like it’s an impossibility. “Is it my sincerity you doubt now?”

“I always doubt your words,” Thor says. “Do not mistake that for wisdom in doubting mine.”

“I hear you,” Loki says, still sounding amused instead of frightened, instead of alarmed as he ought to be in the face of Thor’s barely-withheld temper. The footsteps are drawing closer now; Thor can measure the distance between them without turning just from the sound of Loki’s approach. “Should you murder me in a fit of pique I shall be sure to linger on my deathbed to absolve you of any guilt.”

“It is hardly childish temper that moves me now,” Thor spits, feeling the words tearing raw and ragged on fury in his throat. His heel sets, his shoulders strain. “You should not so lightly speak of things beyond your understanding.”

“Perhaps you _should_ speak of them,” Loki suggests. His voice is very clear, now; he must be almost atop Thor before him. Thor can hear the shape of Loki’s brittle smile drawing taut under the words. “I’m sure I could be a better listener for you than that vase proved.”

“Do not _jest_ with me” and Thor is turning, his whole body swinging hard around the fixed point of his heel to confront Loki behind him, standing with his hands idle at his sides and his lips curling onto that smile Thor heard with such clarity. Thor grabs for him, anger granting force to his movement as he raises his hand; for a moment he doesn’t know if it’s a blow he intends to land, doesn’t know if his fingers will uncurl before he lays hands to his brother. But his grip gives way, his hand unclenching into an open palm as he stretches out, and when his fingers tighten again they’re against Loki’s throat, bracing against the line of the other’s neck with the same force Thor uses with the burden of the hammer that has proved his so-constant companion. Loki’s smile flickers, his lashes dip with a suggestion of pain, but Thor is pushing already, there is no space in him to cease his motion now. His body is moving of its own accord, carried forward upon the breaking wave of his own unleashed energy; and he’s striding forward, shoving Loki back by his hold on the other’s neck without any hesitation or space for his captive to protest. Loki’s hand catches at Thor’s wrist in some reflexive, involuntary attempt to brace himself against the other’s motion, but his feet are skidding over the floor, and Thor’s hold is unflinching, and in the end they just keep going right up towards the column in the middle of the hall that Thor shoves Loki up against. Loki’s shoulders hit, his head slams back against the smooth curve of it; his mouth curves on a grimace of pain, his breath hisses out of him, but Thor is leaning in, is already growling words against the dark of Loki’s hair falling loose over his ear.

“I am in a dark mood, brother.” His fingers tighten, his arm flexes as his grip presses close against Loki’s throat; Loki gasps a breath, his boots skidding against the floor as he tries to catch himself. His hands are tight around Thor’s arm, his fingers digging in hard against the other’s sleeve as his shoulders flex with the effort to hold himself up, but Thor’s grip doesn’t loosen, his rage doesn’t ease. “You would have done better to leave me to my own devices instead of beginning this fight with me, but if it is battle you want I will gladly offer it to you.”

Loki’s mouth twists, his forehead creases. There’s color flushing high across the arch of his cheekbones; his hands at Thor’s arm are tightening to the edge of pain, but Thor ignores it as easily as he ignores the scuff of Loki’s boots dragging against the floor.

“Do you relish this?” he asks, biting off the words to more of a blow than the question they masquerade as. “If it is a fight you crave I shall take you with me the next time I retire to the training grounds, as it seems no one else there is willing to stand their ground against me.”

Loki’s lashes flutter, his gaze drops to Thor’s mouth like he’s trying to read the words from the shape of the other’s lips. “Is that--” he rasps, struggling for the words until his voice is barely recognizable around the sound of the effort forcing against his throat. He grimaces and works himself through a swallow; against the floor his toe catches to brace to stillness for a moment. “Is it that that has brought you to such a petulant tantrum, _brother_?”

Thor hears his breath hiss from the grit of his clenched teeth, feels the whole of his body come alight with fury; his fingers clench so hard on Loki’s throat that the last taunting lilt of the other’s voice cuts off to a whine instead as Loki flinches through instinctive surrender to the force of Thor’s hold at his neck.

“Do not speak to me as a _child_ ,” Thor growls; and he’s pushing forward hard, throwing the force of his shoulders in along with his grip to shove Loki back against the column behind him. Loki’s elbow catches at his chest, Loki’s fingers spasm at his wrist, but Thor just shoves in closer without regard for the bruising force against him or Loki’s half-formed struggles. “I am in nothing like a gaming mood, _brother_.”

“Ah,” Loki gasps. His voice is breaking in the back of his throat, dragging rough over Thor’s fingers on him; but still the corner of his mouth turns up, the edge of his lips curls. His lashes dip, his gaze cuts sideways to catch Thor’s shadowed glare. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Thor hisses past his teeth; something raw and rough with anger, with force enough to drag Loki’s smile off his face by force. But Loki’s expression doesn’t waver, his smile doesn’t ease; the only shift in his expression is at his eyes, as his attention drops to slide across Thor’s face. His gaze catches to the fixed point of the other’s mouth, holding there for a moment just long enough to prickle electricity up the whole of Thor’s spine; and then he looks down and lets his hands fall from Thor’s wrist so he can hold them up at his shoulders instead. “I yield.”

Thor lets his grip go, lets his weight rock back. The heat of his anger is flickering, fading as if it’s melting through his fingers; he can’t seem to lay hand to it, even in the shadow of Loki’s taunting words. There’s something else in its place, something that burns at the back of his thoughts and sticks at his tongue; he’s left voiceless, as if Loki has stolen words from his lips with the easy drag of his own. Loki doesn’t even look up; he just settles his feet at the floor, steadying himself like he’s reacquainting himself with the ground as he lifts his hand to touch against the line of his throat.

“Ever the warrior, you,” he says, his voice only very slightly rough in the back of his throat. Under his fingertips green fire crackles, breaking out across the red at his skin to wipe away the print of Thor’s hold on his neck with the appearance of perfect health. “Prepared to do battle even with your doting brother.”

Thor snorts in spite of himself. “You have never been doting a day in your life, Loki.”

Loki’s mouth twists over a smile. “You would know.” His gaze flickers up, his eyes meet Thor’s for a moment. His lashes cast his attention to shadow, grant depth to the familiar shading of green eyes; for a heartbeat he looks like a stranger, like someone Thor has never seen before in his life. Then his gaze slides away, his head ducks down, and he shifts sideways to step smoothly away from the press of Thor’s shoulders bearing him back against the column behind him.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Loki says, speaking clearly again; there’s no trace of Thor’s fingerprints on his voice, no more indication of the other’s hold to be heard than there is, now, to be seen. “I shall leave you to more solitary pursuits, as you wish.”

“See that you do.” Thor is making an attempt at roughness, trying to pull some kind of regal dominance to his tone; he isn’t at all sure he’s successful. After a moment he turns to glance back over his shoulder at Loki moving towards the door. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Loki’s laugh crackles out into the room, spreading to fill the space overhead as he pauses by the door to glance back at Thor. His fingers are still against his neck; he rubs idly against his collar as his gaze catches Thor’s, as if he’s lost track of what he’s doing.

“You did warn me,” he says. “I’d hardly ask for more.” He tips his head into the outline of a farewell, a smile still pulling hard at the corner of his mouth, and then he turns to pull open the door and slip out into the shadows outside the hallway. Thor watches him go, staring until the door swings shut in the other’s wake; and then he turns back to the column in front of him to reach and press his arm to the support, to lean in and breathe deep in an attempt to ease the speed of his heart beating in his chest as he tastes the promise of winter lingering in the air like frost catching against his lips.


End file.
